


When In Doubt Just Call

by slightlyjillian



Series: Road Rage [3]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-31
Updated: 2010-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-06 21:45:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlyjillian/pseuds/slightlyjillian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of the Road Rage Universe. Set a few years after <i>Point Of Interest</i>. Trowa spends his weekends with Nichol; however, the question of what Trowa does on his <i>weekdays</i> comes under scrutiny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When In Doubt Just Call

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Point Of Interest](https://archiveofourown.org/works/58062) by [jilly-chan (slightlyjillian)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlyjillian/pseuds/jilly-chan). 



> an indulgent commentary on how I see 3x4 these days (which is constantly changing--but begged to be explored)

Trowa pushed the front entrance open with his foot, adjusted his packages and swung the door key back into his lean fingers. The foyer brought a peaceful smile to his features. The rooms would smell like home. Not the apartment where he simply stayed with chair, laptop and dayplanner as the theater prof for the university. No, this place recalled the people he loved most of all. The grouchy magazine editor turned historian, Nichol, and their daughter, Nadia...

Closing the door behind him, Trowa paused to consider the most recent pictures of Nadia added to the wall. One from Christmas two years-ago with her father and Trowa both in the snapshot thanks to Cathy's quick thinking. The next Nadia's fifth grade school picture. Her hair black as Nichol's except for how it fell into her face nearly covering both brown eyes.

_She gets that from you._ Nichol had accused Trowa. Neither of them considering the likelihood that Shiori, the girl's biological mother, might have played an actual part in Nadia's genetics. Shiori sent birthday cards. Nadia would open them first, before any other celebratory event, read the card with a furrowed set in her dark brows and hand the card to Nichol who kept them in a shoebox--hidden in the closet until the next birthday.

Trowa left the luggage-on-wheels under those pictures. Dropping the keys onto their hook, Trowa crept forward looking into the living room on the right.

He'd moved slowly to delay the excitement of reuniting with his partner. Something in his chest had tightened with expectation, when he found instead what looked like the work of vandals.

The bookshelf had been emptied, but not in an orderly fashion. Most of the texts, a few were antiques, were haphazardly spread across the floor. The remains of dinner was caked on plates and silverware across the coffee table. Documents were tossed over every inch of carpet and the basket of newspapers had been scattered overtop.

Nichol was on the couch, stretched out with his head under a pillow both arms holding it down toward his face.

"Where's Nadia?" Trowa asked.

The pillow dropped enough that Trowa saw wild dark hair tousled at every which way and white rimmed eyes. Nichol muttered, "Sleepover with the Pinters. I thought it would be better if she didn't see this."

"Good idea." Trowa set down the packages he'd brought in. Presents for Nadia and... "Where's Henry?" his voice pitched somewhat in alarm.

"Sleeping. Settled down a little while ago. He's fine," Nichol replied, sitting up with the pillow still in his lap. The man seemed absolutely exhausted, clothes rumpled. He picked up a coffee mug from the mess on the short table, scowled at the empty contents then let the cup drop back to the small space where it fit.

Trowa found the baby monitor then, on top of a stack of opened notebooks. The relief Trowa felt drifted on the surface of another sinking feeling when he saw the newspaper opened to the Media and Arts section. "Wow, Nichol," Trowa said, rubbing his fingers into his forehead. "I was going to talk to you about that. I didn't think you'd..." He waved his hand around the destruction of the room.

"How am I supposed to react?" Nichol scowled. The expression was so endeared to Trowa that he moved to sit next to the brooding figure and wrapped an arm around Nichol's shoulder. Nichol shifted, as if he'd rather not let Trowa so close, but didn't get up.

"What's happening in this picture?" Trowa lifted his foot and set a boot next to the incriminating evidence, nudging it. "If you ignore the headline, all you've got is two men at dinner."

"People have to eat," Nichol's voice rumbled through the fabric on his back and against Trowa's arm. "But they say you seemed close and shared a cab."

"I love it when you get so indignant," Trowa tentatively nuzzled the older man's ear.

"So what's the excuse, Barton?"

"Okay," Trowa sank back into the couch, Nichol watching in profile. "We split the fare from the campus and back. Plus," he lifted a finger to point at Nichol, "We're both high profile, openly gay men who are _friendly_ as friends. Of course, they make assumptions we're lovers..."

"I really don't like this guy. What's his name? The woodwinds prof." Nichol remained bent forward, crossing his arms over his knees. "And you promised after the last time this happened to clear things up with the press."

"Strings, not woodwinds. His name's Quatre, and we did, Nichol, we did." Trowa crossed his arms, too. "We explained to his class, my class, the faculty, the board that we just happened to perform an impromptu duet. He didn't know that I played so I thought I'd have a bit of fun at his expense."

"Lots of fun. Nice going with forgetting that kids carry phones with cameras these days."

"Now you're being ridiculous." Trowa wiped his palms along the length of his pants. Standing, he offered Nichol a hand up from the couch. "I don't get jealous when you spend time with that editor of yours."

"Sylvia." Nichol reached out for Trowa's hand simply to hold it. "And that's never in person, seeing as I'm the one stuck at home taking care of our children every day of the week."

Trowa glanced at the baby monitor which remained silent. "I want to see him, but first," he tugged Nichol to stand. "I want to make sure you're satisfied."

"Definitely unsatisfied." Nichol's tone seemed light. Trowa hardly ever witnessed the tempers that he knew Nichol could ignite with little fuel. The living room alone an indication of that. Trowa should have followed up on his intuition to call. Or was he missing something else?

"I'll cut back my classes next semester or insist on less days," Trowa suggested. They stood close, legs pinned with the couch and table leaving little room between. Nichol's shrug pulled Trowa's arm, the only place where they remained connected. Trowa continued, "I need us to work. I need this home to come back to."

Nichol laughed, "Really? All I was going to ask was that you let us go up for a week. Something strategic where these amateur photographers are taking pictures of you _with me_."

Trowa's brow lifted in surprise, "That easy?"

"What? Are you saying that I'm not easy?" Nichol seemed to have regained his dour humor even as he absently rubbed his thumb along Trowa's fingers.

"Next time, call before you commence a counter attack," Trowa suggested.

Nichol took his arm back, surveying the damage while crossing his arms. "I'd say we both blew it."

"No, I'm pretty sure you made _this_ mess by yourself."

"I was hoping your skills might come in handy." Nichol tilted his head to look up at the taller man. Waiting with uncharacteristic quiet.

"You want this to work, too," Trowa said, dumbly.

"What part of adopting a child with you and knee-jerk jealousy did you miss?" Nichol swiftly snaked an elbow around Trowa's neck. Pulling him down into a headlock that stopped midway with a lip-bruising kiss.

Of course, the resulting commotion was enough to startle the baby monitor to wailing life.

Breathless, Trowa whispered, "I got him. Don't move."

Running down the hallway to his son, Trowa heard Nichol call after, "You promised me _satisfaction_, Barton."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Stars That Guide Us](https://archiveofourown.org/works/58094) by [slightlyjillian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlyjillian/pseuds/slightlyjillian)




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